Tidebearer
by Stridette
Summary: Every dozen or so generations, Azeroth finds itself visited by a mysterious artifact, known in troll mythology as the Stone of the Tides. Ril'jun, an emissary from Zandalar, never expected it to define his destiny.
1. Prologue

On the horizon, far beyond the eastern shores of the Gurubashi Empire, the sun was rising. The sky burned in breathtaking hues of orange and pink. A cool breeze blew in from the ocean, carrying with it the scent of salt. Trolls emerged as one from the shelter of their small village with slow and casual grace; they were headed out to hunt and to war, but they knew both well. This land was theirs, and they were one with its dangers and its bounty.

Upon a low cliff, he eyed the village boredly. He decided that he didn't like it. It was small and insignificant; any one could see that. The trolls within were so wretchedly pleased to go on with their everyday, unimportant lives. How very contemptible.

And yet, he watched it. Watched it and waited, as he had been instructed to do. What he was watching for, he did not know. Even his lord had not known. Nonetheless, he had been sent here, to watch the small blue folk as they partook in their hunts and fought their pointless wars and raised their unnecessary children.

Yet another day of endless boredom faced him, and finally it was too much to bear. He would set this task to one of his inferiors. One with some experience in this matter, but one unimportant enough that they would not be missed by his lord. Then he could spend the next fifty years of his life doing something _interesting_.

He raised his hands into the air slowly. The sleeves of his garment fell down his arms to reveal intricate, swirling tattoos. He muttered a few words in a strange tongue, causing his palms to momentarily pulse with a pale light, then lowered his hands once more. The air beside him shifted and shimmered, and suddenly another pale stranger stood on the bluff.

"I am here, lord," the newcomer said serenely. This stranger was a delicate figure, far smaller than the summoner.

"Excellent. Be ready for a simple task," the master replied with a smirk. "Though it's not a small one, by any means."

His charge returned the smile, though it was not so wry. "Of course, my lord. I have been awaiting this for some time."

"Oh, I know." And he did. His charge had been most emphatic on the matter. With a nod and another gesture, he vanished.

The smaller stranger remained on the shore, looking down upon the village. Before he had left, the master had telepathically conveyed the task at hand.

The stranger smiled.

* * *

Ril'jun smiled.

Communing with the great loa was not something easily done. It relied on many things: a strong and healthy body, an agile and focused mind, and a powerful will to bend the loa's whims to one's bidding. And when all these things were right, perhaps then, if one was either lucky or blessed enough, a connection could be made.

It was not so rare an occurrence for Ril'jun as for others. As a shadow hunter, he had been trained to have the utmost in all the necessary strengths, but even so he was either more lucky or blessed than any troll he'd met – other than the High Priests of each god and, of course, the king himself. Indeed, since his people – the Zandalari – rarely had much need to consult the loa for matters of war or other perils, he was even fortunate enough to be in such a position as to sometimes be able to establish contact merely for the luxury of basking in their power and wisdom.

He was doing so now. The pure, animalistic energy of Zanza coursed through him, searing his soul, cleansing him in an almost painful bath of fire. He elated in the sensations, knowing himself to be nearer now to his true spirit, and the spirits of the entire world.

Amidst all this, a speck of darkness appeared. A frown corrupted his ecstatic expression. He focused upon it, seeking out its truth. As soon as he opened his mind to it, it suddenly expanded, transforming into bleak knowledge and settling in his mind.

With subdued thanks, Ril'jun withdrew from the godly presence. He opened his eyes and stared blankly at the carcass that had been his offering to Zanza. He scarcely saw it, instead focusing all his awareness on this new, loa-given knowledge.

A storm was coming, and with it, doom.


	2. Haze

It was a cold, blustery day. Clouds gathered ominously over the ocean, the odd sprinkling of rain keeping the threat of more planted firmly in Ril'jun's mind. He felt the weather in his bones – no longer the pleasant experience it had been in his youth. Sometimes, being in such close touch with Zanza had its downsides.

With an effort, he climbed the last of the temple stairs and paused to rest. Not for the first time, he wondered why the jungle trolls so enjoyed communing with the gods at such great heights. These were not nearly so bad as Amani temples, he knew, but very rarely did he have to climb those. His post as emissary did not call for much travel; usually, he just wrote letters and spoke to the king as diplomatically as possible.

He glanced out over the treetops, towards the western shoreline. He could see Yojamba Island from here: the tiny islet he called home. Not much else was visible, apart from the dark haze on the horizon, and the ripples through the treetops as the wind blasted across the jungle. Beneath the canopy would be perfectly calm, he knew. Shivering, he wished he could be down there instead.

His breath returned, Ril'jun eagerly made his way to the shelter of the upper alcove. He paused, taking a moment to open his mind to the presence of the less familiar loa that dominated this temple, to allow them to bless his entry. The sensation was rather unpleasant, but he stood stoically, making a careful gesture of respect with his staff before proceeding past the ornately carved stone walls of the hallway and into the sanctum.

For all its height, the temple of I'lalai was small relative to the mighty temples in the capital of Zul'Gurub, but it appeared no less significant to Ril'jun's eyes. The layout of the upper sanctum was simple enough – an altar stood in the centre, raised on a step, surrounded by jars of herbs and bowls of burning incense. It was the intricately carved homage to the snake god that was praised here that truly caught the eye, however. The walls were covered in swirling designs, etched with care into the stone. In each corner, a long, tapering snake wound about a pillar reaching to the ceiling, which was carved with the same swirling patterns as the walls.

The masterpiece was the altar itself. From the raised step, a huge snake seemed to be bursting out from within the inner temple. Its fierce eyes were rubies, its fangs pearl. The flat, rectangular capstone was positioned within the mighty python's jaws.

The sheer strength of Hethiss' presence was, as usual, overpowering. The snake god was known for his dominating character; it was said that, to the closest of his followers, his voice was even stronger than that of the now-defeated Hakkar. Ril'jun was, as ever, temporarily disoriented. Zanza could barely be felt in this place. It was unnerving.

"Steady yourself, mon," said a familiar voice, one thick with the Gurubashi accent. "I don't think Hethiss would appreciate your fainting."

Ril'jun smiled at the young troll that stood before him. Min'loth was relatively new to his position of Chief Priest to this temple, and second priest of Hethiss throughout the Empire – he was barely out of adolescence, and had only earned his name three years ago – but one could hardly tell to look at him. Indeed, he scarcely looked like a witch doctor at all. He was tall and broad – a warrior bred, though certainly a snake-priest born. He carried himself with careful confidence that bordered on arrogance, and though he enjoyed a good jest, his manner was almost always serious and intense.

In all his years, though, Ril'jun had never taken to a friendship so quickly and easily as he had with this young troll, and the bond was mutual. They often spent time together on neutral ground, away from the imposing presences of Hethiss and Zanza alike, and spoke long and hard about their opposing views on the spiritual and, sometimes, even politics.

"I may well have a few years on you, Gurubashi, but I'm far from ancient, and I'm not going down yet," Ril'jun assured him with a courteous gesture of greeting, which was solemnly returned. "You'd do well to remember it."

"That's true," Min'loth conceded, taking a seat on the altar stoop. "And if I didn't, I'm sure Zanza would make me regret insulting his favourite guy."

Ril'jun chuckled as he crouched down before his young friend. "No doubt."

Min'loth regarded him with a careful look. "You've visited this temple before for company's sake, but never in the face of this kind of weather. You wanna talk about something, mon?"

With a wry smile, Ril'jun nodded. "Nothing gets past you." When Min'loth showed no sign of replying, he continued. "I had a vision."

The other nodded patiently. "Zanza blesses you often."

"He does, and I am ever grateful for his generosity," Ril'jun replied quickly, "but I'm concerned about the nature of the vision."

"Yeah?" It seemed Min'loth's interest was piqued. He gazed at Ril'jun intently.

"A warning. We need to be wary of the ocean."

Silence fell as Min'loth sat back against the altar and closed his eyes. Wind howled through the hallway, chilling the room and disturbing the slow ascent of aromatic smoke from the incense bowls.

"More than wary, friend," Ril'jun pressed on. "We are to fear it. I believe it may spell doom, though for who or what, I don't know." He cleared his throat. "I think it may be a large enough threat to cause concern for the entire Gurubashi Empire."

Min'loth opened one eye and regarded him carefully. Ril'jun met his gaze with equal intensity, determined to impress the seriousness of his words upon him.

"Ril'jun," the young troll said finally, calmly, "is it possible that what you've seen is just a matter of poor weather? Such as the storm that's coming in over the ocean right now?"

"There's no 'just' about this!" Ril'jun insisted. Irritation was starting to build. If Hethiss had given the vision, he had no doubt Min'loth would be taking this more seriously. "It may well have to do with the weather, but believe me when I say that this would be the sort of weather that could flatten temples!"

With a sigh, the Gurubashi stood. "You know as well as I do that no amount of rain could bring down a temple, mon. Not if it lasted a thousand years. And if that's what you've been warned of, well, we all know we're gonna die one day."

"No!" Ril'jun insisted, standing and thrusting his staff at Min'loth to punctuate. "The threat is far more immediate than that. Why do you dismiss Zanza's warning out of hand? You never have before!" Indeed, this was precisely why Ril'jun needed Min'loth to believe him; he wanted to warn the Gurubashi about their upcoming peril, but if his own friend couldn't accept it, he knew his chances of getting the king to heed his warning were slim to none.

"Because, mon," Min'loth replied with a sudden grim smile, "I've also received a vision. Hethiss has been _most_ generous."

Ril'jun hesitated, thrown. That had not been the answer he was expecting. "Go on."

"I – we – the Gurubashi – are gonna receive a great gift from the west. Before today, before you told me about your vision, I thought it might mean a gift from Zandalar. But I understand now. It's gonna come from the ocean."

Ril'jun frowned, wondering if Min'loth knew what he was suggesting. A gift for the Gurubashi that spelled doom to Zanza could mean only one thing.

"You foresee war."

Min'loth nodded, his smile lingering. "And Hethiss sees victory for the Gurubashi."

_And defeat for the Zandalari,_ Ril'jun thought, his heart sinking. It was confusing – Zandalar was seen by all troll peoples as the true homeland. The Zandalari were always carefully neutral in the matters of both inter-tribe and inter-empire politics, so why would hostilities arise in which they would suffer? But he could see no other explanation.

He looked at Min'loth forlornly. It was clear that the Gurubashi's glee stemmed from a belief that his people's foe would be the Amani, as it had always been since the Aqir threat had been all but vanquished centuries before the Sundering. Even now, in a time of relative peace, minor skirmishes took place on the borders to the north. And perhaps he was right. It didn't fit with Ril'jun's vision, but another Gurubashi-Amani war would make much more sense.

He forced himself to smile. His job was to promote peace between the empires, but his role as friend called for a different attitude. "I'm happy for you. I'll pray to Zanza for your safety."

Min'loth's smile became arrogant. "We won't be needing it. Hethiss' gift will be mighty. We're gonna have victory, mon."

Ril'jun nodded, wishing he could share in his friend's youthful optimism, or at the very least, that he could believe that his own people were safe.


	3. Thunder

The great city of Zul'Gurub was the pride and strength of the entire Gurubashi Empire. Though it was the largest of all the jungle troll cities, very few were born there; it was a stronghold of military might, a home for all the greatest warriors and priests and hunters, and it was the seat of political power. Perhaps most of all, however, Zul'Gurub was the most spiritually significant point in the Empire. It was said that it was built on the most sacred site ever found, and to those few who could sense it, it was clear that this was the place upon which the gods and loa focused most of their attentions.

Within the daunting stone walls were a set of towering temples, built in homage to each of the five Primal Gods – Shirvallah the Tiger, Shadra the Spider, Bethekk the Panther, Hir'eek the Bat, and Hethiss the Snake – as well as other temples built haphazardly throughout the city, each dedicated to one of the major loa. Even the great temple of Hakkar, the Blood God, still stood, defiant against the forces that had brought down the god himself.

Then there was the Great Temple: the point of strongest power within the city. To all appearances, it was no different to any other temple in the city; it was no larger and no more ornately decorated, though a keen eye might notice the decorations were unique in their lack of discrimination. From the outside, only the position of the temple gave away its significance – it stood in the very heart of the city, surrounded on all sides by the five Primals.

Any witch doctor or shadow hunter that visited this temple, however, would understand its importance immediately. An immense presence seemed to leak from the very stones, a power full of both wrath and benevolence. Var'gazul, king of the Gurubashi Empire, understood the presence better than any other; he could feel the gods as they bore down, the loa as they filled his soul, the spirits as they churned restlessly about, and even shadow ascendants as they lurked. Here was all the spirits in one, and all the chaos that implied. It was, at times, overwhelming.

The motifs etched across the walls were dedicated to no one god, or even all five. All major spirits were represented, from Ogoun to Zanza and even Hakkar, in a crazed mosaic that stretched from the very entrance of the upper sanctum to the farthest deep reaches of the lower. Even bizarre, unknown marks could be found if one looked hard enough – marks no doubt carved by past priests inspired by the presence of some minor spirit or ancestor.

And then, of course, there was the king's presence.

Var'gazul resided here as much as any witch doctor resided in their temple. He had few possessions, but those few items were stored in his chamber, situated deep within the temple, nearer to the lower sanctum. Most of his time was spent up high, however, as he communed with the gods, dealt with the tribal elders, and commanded his vast armies.

Today, he was seated, cross-legged, by a fire pit situated in one of the lower alcoves. His ancient staff, covered in old feathers and beads of stone and pearl, lay forgotten at his side as he stared into the cool ashes.

"So there are more," he said. His voice was gravelly, but not weakened by his age.

"Yes, king," said the troll beside him, deferentially pressing the hilt of her bone dagger to the stone.

Var'gazul exhaled slowly and nodded before turning to face her. "Thank you, Akkane. Make certain the Zandalari is notified. He must send word to his associate in Zul'Aman."

Akkane bowed her head low, stood, and departed. Her expression had not changed, he noted, impressed. She was his newest guard, only a month at her duty, but she was proving perfect for the task.

He knew that she would understand the eventuality he was preparing for, and he knew she would not like it a bit. Nonetheless, if her report was accurate – if there truly were vast numbers of Aqir remaining beneath the jungle – it was likely to prove wise to reaffirm the tenuous peace they had achieved with the green-skinned Amani trolls in the north.

As a token of good will, he would need to order his border scouts to stop their squabbles with the Amani scouts, and they would need to listen. It would be difficult to achieve this, as he understood that relatively few of those fights were initiated by his people, but his effort would be seen and heard as far as Zul'Aman itself.

Besides, even a few lives spared on that front could amount to a more comprehensive victory against the Aqir.

For millennia, the Aqir – a swarming hive mind of insectoid creatures – had been a thorn in the side of his people. Thousands of years ago, in the time of Abendi, they had been convincingly destroyed by the Amani, and most had believed them wiped out. It had been a blow to the pride of the Gurubashi, because they had fought the bugs with equal vigour, to no avail. The history became mildly better when the forest trolls then turned their aggressions upon their allies, and the Gurubashi beat them back, comprehensively defeating them and achieving the political balance that remained still today. But to have been bested in fighting such a strange and terrifying foe as the Aqir – that had hurt, and it still did.

There had been several sightings and lost hunters over the past several centuries, all said to be the Aqir returning, but for the most part, these claims had been ignored in favour of more immediate threats, like inter-tribal strife. But logic said that, if the claims were true, then the stray bugs had to be some of many; Aqir lived in swarms, in underground hives. It was this that had both troubled and excited Var'gazul ever since he had heard his first report as a young king.

The Aqir in these reports were different to the Aqir of the old tales. While still vicious, it seemed they were no longer quite as aggressive; Var'gazul could imagine them hiding in their dark, deep places, attacking only when disturbed. Though his duties as king had forced him to ignore it, his gut had told him that the Aqir were very real, and that they were amassing their numbers.

It seemed, by chance, that he had been proven right. He was thrilled.

Scouts had located a hive entrance, and spotted a live bug. And they had come back alive. Finally vindicated, after nearly a century as king, Var'gazul could see an opportunity to do something of note. He would be the one remembered for having destroyed the Aqir at long, long last – not some Amani woman.

He would go down in history as the greatest king the empire had ever seen.

* * *

A shimmer and a pulse, and all was still.

She was old, older than living memory, at least among the mortal races. And she was cold, a shiver running up her spine at the disturbance that had briefly assaulted her senses.

But she was also young, at least as far as her kind were concerned. Young and bored. She was eager to continue that which she did best, but she had been forced to wait with withering patience for the opportunity to arise.

And suddenly, with a gasp, it had arisen.

For her, it was though the last several hundred years simply fell from her shoulders. She gazed at the horizon beyond the shore, past the gathering clouds, where the earth beneath the waves had shuddered with such magical intensity, and where the air had shimmered and the pale sunlight had grown so momentarily bright. No one any less powerful in the ways of the arcane would have sensed the phenomenon, for which she was grateful. It would not do for the world to know what was about to befall it.

She began to walk south.

* * *

Akkane was a sensible troll. Like any sensible troll, she held great stock in the superstitions and teachings of the gods. Unfortunately, when it came to the ocean, Akkane's faith began to waver.

She certainly believed the shamans and the shadow hunters when they told her that she belonged to the ocean, that it was her mother and father and master. She also believed them when they said all life came from, and shall return to, the waves. Belief was not the issue. The issue was a lack of desire to return to them at all.

It was not a fear of death that plagued her. Indeed, that death could be feared would never occur to her – she was truly a warrior at heart, and she knew that an honourable death was the only way to a good life. Besides, she understood that the spirits of the deceased almost always lingered on. There was something unnerving about the thought of drowning, however. The thought of dying at the cold hands of a body so uncaring, so indifferent, made her shiver.

She was thinking about this as she alighted the narrow raft that had been selected to take her from the mainland to the small island that housed the Zandalari emissary. Yojamba Island lay just offshore, perhaps close enough to swim to if one knew how, but a deep channel put off all attempts to wade across.

The raft was manned by a single ageing troll. A priestess, perhaps, or a shaman. The elder smiled at Akkane as she boarded, then began to paddle.

Akkane knelt on the raft, careful not to move lest she upturn it, and closed her eyes. She attempted to settle her mind. She could not be flustered when speaking on behalf of the king.

As she knelt there, a strange sensation took hold. She felt suddenly lightheaded, and for a moment felt as if she might faint. Placing her hands on the boards either side of her knees in an attempt to steady herself, she opened her eyes.

She gasped. The crone was kneeling right before her, so close that their tusks almost touched. Through crooked teeth, she was still smiling.

"Are you unwell, dear?"

Akkane blinked. It had been many years since anyone had addressed her so. "Er, yes, elder one. I mean, a little."

The old troll chuckled. "Just you lie down. I'll get you to land safely, dear. Oh yes, nice and safe..." Her croaky voice trailed off into incoherent mutterings. Feeling anything but reassured, Akkane did as she was told and lay down, though this time she kept her eyes determinedly open, gazing fixedly at the cloudy sky and trying not to feel the rolling waves beneath her.

For some reason unknown to her, Akkane's mind wandered. She thought of her sister. Strange indeed – she hadn't thought of Halanna in many years. Perhaps something about the crone had brought her to mind? She barely had time to wonder as her eyelids drooped and sleep took her.


	4. Gathering

He was nervous.

This was an unusual thing for Ril'jun. He'd committed his life to Zanza, including his death, and when one did not fear their own mortality, it was hard to be shaken by much else. But today, his own safety was not a matter for concern. It was all of Zandalar that worried him.

When his homeland – the homeland of all trollkind – was threatened, it was understandable that one might become upset.

A thick mist covered the ocean today. From the small island he called his temporary home, Ril'jun could not even see the shoreline, which was barely a five-minute paddle away. It had come suddenly, almost worryingly so, but he was hardly going to complain. He enjoyed this kind of weather. It made him feel more alone, but also more like he was back home, where he had spent the best years of his life.

Not that he was bitter. Life here had its perks, solitude being the best of them. Homesickness had struck him hard in the last day, however. He wondered if any of them remembered that he even existed.

He heard a sound over the waves, an irregularity in the lapping onto Yojamba's sandy shore. It was a sound he knew well, and was feeling loath to welcome: the sound of a raft approaching.

He stood and left the doorway to his hut, making his way to the eastern end of his tiny island. By the time his ageing limbs had carried him to his destination, his visitor had already alighted.

His breath caught.

She was easily the most beautiful jungle troll he had ever seen. Her skin was pale blue and clean, as though she'd swum here rather than rafted. Her dark blue hair was braided gracefully down her neck, and her delicate face was smiling, revealing slender, gently curving tusks. Though fairly short, she was clearly a warrior; none but a warrior could look that strong and controlled in her movements.

In an attempt to disguise his reaction, Ril'jun bowed especially low, sketching a formal greeting in the air with his staff. It would appear to be a strange thing, a man of his position acting so respectfully, but it was better than his ogling being noticed. He berated himself for being a lecherous old man, then straightened, cautiously gauging her response.

She surprised him by smiling and returning the gesture in a manner he had never seen done by the living.

"Welcome. Zanza bless you," he said.

"Thank you, friend," the woman replied. "I am Halanna, and I bring a message."

Again, Ril'jun was surprised. She spoke like he did, or like the king – no shortened consonants, no colloquial "mon". It was the proper speech of Zandalar, the speech of the highly educated. But no warrior should speak like this, surely? He had never come across it in all his years.

"Come in, then," he said, carefully ensuring his voice remained level, betraying no confusion. "Join me by my fire."

He led her to his hut, and offered her food and drink and smoke, all of which she politely declined as she knelt beside the brazier. He squatted opposite her.

"My news comes from… Var'gazul," she began.

Ril'jun noticed the pause, as well as the fact that she did not name the king by his title, as was customary. He said nothing, but felt his earlier unease settle back in and begin to magnify. Something was not being said here.

"He wishes for you to know that some scouts have located an infested Aqir hive. He seems to hope you'll–"

Halanna's mouth snapped shut, and Ril'jun thought she had said more than she'd intended. He paid no attention, his mind instead latching onto the news with relief. Aqir! Perhaps they were the enemy Hethiss had meant! That would be excellent news; the bugs were traditionally a catalyst for peace between the Amani and Gurubashi empires. Perhaps it was they that Zanza had warned him about, too. What a great thing that would be.

His attention again turned to Halanna when she suddenly stood, and her head snapped around to stare intently to the southeast. He frowned. "What–"

"Shh!" she hissed. Ril'jun got the distinct impression that she wasn't trying to hear something so much as she was trying to shut him up.

"What is it?" he persisted.

"You're not the one."

Ril'jun studied her, wondering if the spirits were speaking to her. Perhaps he had been wrong in his initial assessment of her. Though she didn't look like one, maybe she was a priestess, or a shadow hunter. "The one what?"

Halanna paused, then whirled around and looked at him with surprise, or maybe fear. "Ah… nothing. I mean…" She looked flustered. "I'm – uh, my king needs me. I should go now."

And then, like the shadow ascendants themselves were chasing her down, she fled the island.

* * *

Akkane awoke. She moved slowly at first, her mind a muddled mess, but as it cleared, alarm set in. Her eyes still closed, she felt at her side for her dagger. It was still there. She gripped it and silently drew it.

Something was wrong. Some bad spirits had possessed her, or had been thrown against her. She had not been tired, and yet she had slept. She had dreamed that she had spoken to the emissary as ordered, but she was certain that she had not done so.

…Had she?

She opened her eyes and sat up, too quickly. The raft beneath her rocked and she froze, holding her breath until it steadied. And then, as she exhaled, she noticed the old priestess.

"We're almost on solid land again, dear. Don't you fret."

It took all of Akkane's self control not to toss wild accusations at the crone as she paddled through the mist. Mist? Had that always been there? She shook her head.

"I'm not fretting," she replied through clenched teeth. She was going mad, perhaps, but she was definitely not _fretting_.

The priestess chuckled infuriatingly, but Akkane forced herself to be calm, only her tight grip on her dagger belying her relaxing posture.

"Did we – did I speak with the emissary?"

After the briefest of pauses, the priestess replied. "Of course you did, girl. Don't you remember?"

"Of course I do," Akkane replied, not truly lying. She _did_ recall the meeting, though it seemed so much like a dream...

They reached the shore in silence. Akkane shivered as she waded through the last few feet to land, and not just because of the water's unnaturally biting cold. The elderly priestess dragged the raft ashore alone, but did not follow her, for which Akkane was glad.

She desperately needed time to arrange her memories.

* * *

The priestess watched the young warrior depart, her clouding eyes filling with apprehension, and her lips forming a frown around her yellowing tusks. She was unused to doubt. Young trolls, these days. Perhaps they were simply more stubborn than their ancestors had been. Or perhaps it had just been this one.

She cast her musings aside. There were more pressing matters at hand. Just to the south, the world was changing. It was her duty to see it through.


	5. Arrival

Min'loth stared at the object in his hand with astonishment.

It was the most exquisite thing he had ever laid eyes upon. It was a stone, circular, washed smooth by the waves and of such a size that it fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. Its colour was unlike that of any stone he'd ever seen, however; it was the deepest and darkest of blues, like the most unfathomable depths of the ocean, and within it swirled mysterious strands of milky white, shifting hypnotically before his eyes.

Hethiss had willed him to come here, to the shores near Bal'lal village, and he had been more than happy to leave his meeting with one of the lesser priests in order to oblige. Conventional wisdom taught the priests that, while the loa and other spirits were wild and needed to be tamed, the gods demanded and rewarded servitude. And such a reward he had been given!

He gently wrapped his fingers around its smooth surface. Though it had undoubtedly been sitting on the hot white sands for some hours, it remained pleasantly cool to the touch.

"Hi, there."

Min'loth gave a start. He had not heard the other troll's approach over the sound of the gently rolling waves. Surreptitiously bringing the stone in close to his side, then behind his back, he turned to greet her.

"Afternoon, mon," he said, his voice calm and steady.

The other troll smiled. She was attractive, and somehow familiar to him, though he couldn't place from where he knew her face. "Nice day for a stroll on the beach, isn't it?"

He couldn't help but feel a bit threatened by the oddness of this conversation. It had been a long time since he'd been addressed like a commoner by a simple warrior such as this. His first thought was one of indignation, but he quickly reminded himself that he was a long way from I'lalai, and close to Bal'lal, and she was even younger than he – it was likely that she did not know who or what he was.

He took a deep breath and straightened his back, standing tall. "Hethiss be with you, mon," he said, effectively pressing home the point of his elevated position.

But the woman did not appear to be cowed by his rank. Instead, she looked down and straight through him, to where he held the stone behind his back. "What've you got there?"

He was stunned by her impudence. On any other day, he might have been amused by it, but not today. Today he had the stone, and he had no desire to share it with some strange, lowly warrior. "Nothing of interest to you, girl," he told her, his tone gaining an edge.

"Would it be of interest to me, then?" asked a familiar voice.

* * *

When the troll woman that had called herself Halanna had left the island, Ril'jun had immediately returned to his hut to meditate. And though wresting answers from the loa could often take hours of focused concentration, it had only taken the first breath of herbal smoke to pass through his nostrils before an answer arrived, hammering itself into his mind with such force as to leave him momentarily stunned.

The storm had arrived.

Immediately, he had taken his tiny canoe to the mainland. He had spied the raft that Halanna had used washed upon the shore, but of her there was no sign. Strangely, two sets of distinctly trollish footprints diverged from the raft – one headed east into the jungle, the other south along the shore – but there was no time to wonder about that. He had known where the storm had landed, and the second set of footprints had led the way. He had followed them.

And so he walked up alongside Halanna, facing Min'loth. The female troll gave him only a cursory glance before returning her gaze to the priest. That these two were the ones Ril'jun had found at the storm's head has of no surprise to him, as they had both brought him unease since his vision. That the skies themselves were clear – and somehow, the mist had disappeared – was the only disappointment.

Min'loth's expression concerned him. It was far from his usual grim honesty. Instead, his eyes were full of glee and panic, though Ril'jun doubted even the priest himself knew it. He hid something behind his back in an almost childlike manner.

But when he saw Ril'jun, he calmed. He still looked profoundly joyful, but the fear was fading. "Ril'jun! The ocean has blessed us, mon."

His heart skipped a beat. Min'loth must have seen the apprehension in his face, because he smiled widely.

"Look what she gave us!"

And from behind his back he produced a thing no troll expected to see in their lifetime, though many hoped. He took a step forward as Halanna gasped.

"The Stone of the Tides," he breathed.

"Yes!" Min'loth said, clutching it tightly. "Finally, we can have victory."

Ril'jun struggled to disagree with this. Such power would be enough to force the Amani people into submission out of fear. It would be enough to achieve peace. Perhaps he'd misunderstood Zanza's message, after all. Perhaps, in the end, the storm was a force for good.

He looked back up at his young friend's face. It was so utterly full of pride and hope. He forced himself to smile.

"Congratulations, Tidebearer."

* * *

The two men sat in the upper alcove of the Temple of I'lalai. Though he felt a near unbearable desire to seek out the wisdom of Zanza – or, at least, the soothing of his presence – Ril'jun was willing to put aside his discomfort for the sake of his friend. No troll should be alone when the weight of destiny had so suddenly been thrust upon them.

They spoke about the meaning of the Stone's arrival. Min'loth was convinced that it had been sent to show that the Gurubashi were the ones destined to dominate over the entire land, and talked at length about the change he was going to bring. Ril'jun said little, merely nodding for the most part, and letting his friend enthuse about the turn of fate.

One idea pleased him: that the Stone could be used to destroy the last of the Aqir, if the report was accurate. As a Zandalari, he most loved the idea of destroying the enemies of all trolls – the Aqir, the corrupted god Hakkar, and even the mythical Kaldorei. The priest's optimism was contagious. Ril'jun found himself feeling almost envious, which was of course a ridiculous thing; while Min'loth's new gift could be harnessed by his people, giving him purpose and a measure of greatness that would go down in history, the Zandalari Tidebearers of history were the ones of forgotten names and deeds. He would have achieved nothing if he had found the stone first, and his story would likely have mirrored that of Toshu, the first Tidebearer: short, pointless and tragic.

Min'loth asked him to join him in presenting the Stone to the king on the morrow. Ril'jun agreed. And suddenly, more than anything, he wanted to be home. Not just to Yojamba, but to Zandalar, to his sisters, away from all the diplomatic nightmares that were about to arise. He liked the Gurubashi well enough, but their quarrel with the Amani meant nothing to him. Nothing but headaches.

He left. Min'loth was no doubt confused over the abruptness of his departure, and he felt bad, but he suddenly felt unable to trust his tongue. The priest had a great burden, now. Ril'jun would not make it worse.

* * *

They had spoken well into the night about their discovery. Halanna knew this because she had watched them carefully.

The two trolls had been so engrossed by their new trinket that they had not even noticed when she had deliberately lagged behind them as they walked away from the beach. She had followed them at a distance, too far for them to see her and remember her, but close enough not to lose them. It was shameful that she had not already known where the new Tidebearer's temple was located; she had clearly not been vigilant enough.

She sat at the foot of the temple, behind the stairs, where she could see them if they descended. Night fell, and she scratched irritably at her mosquito bites. She should not have assumed that the Zandalari would be the one to find the Stone. She had known that to become fixated upon one of them would lead to failure. So why had she done it?

She berated herself for her own stupidity, but cursed her luck even more. Everything had been under control until the Zandalari had turned up at the beach; she'd thought the old troll would have been slower in finding his way there, though she'd assumed he would eventually. His gods seemed to like him.

His arrival had spurred her into changing tactics. She would complete her task, but it would have to be different this time.

On the matter of changing tactics, she was reminded of the warrior, Akkane. This was a problem she would have to tackle from a creative angle. The sisters had last seen each other many years ago. How could she justify her sudden reappearance?

"You have a way of slipping by unnoticed."

Halanna looked up. The Zandalari stood over her, smiling amiably. Without asking permission, he sat beside her.

"There's something funny about you, Halanna."

She stared at him, then broke out into a grin. "You have no idea."

He chuckled. "I'll find out what it is, eventually." He said this with no threat in his voice; it was merely a statement of fact, or maybe a mild caution.

She was unperturbed. "I don't doubt it."

He nodded, then stood with some effort, leaning on his staff. He looked down at her again, almost as if he were about to speak, then shook his head with a smile and walked towards the shore. Towards his tiny island.

Halanna stood and followed without a word.


	6. Meeting

The jungle awoke as the sky lightened. Even before rays of sunlight broached the horizon, before the leaves opened up to warm light, birds were singing their long, low melodies and crawling things were shuffling about in the leaf litter. Ril'jun woke with them, climbing out of his hammock and setting about making some herbal tea. He carefully poured it and walked into the cool dawn air.

"Good morning."

Halanna knelt on the very edge of the grass, just before where the sand slid into the ocean. He nodded, smiling, and passed her a cup. Waking up in the company of another troll was something to which Ril'jun had grown unaccustomed, but the feeling was far from unpleasant. He squatted down on the shore beside her and lifted his own cup to smell it. The scent of Goldthorn was a pleasant one, and stimulating, though it had few spiritual applications. A small vice for a shadow hunter such as himself, but he used it sparingly nonetheless.

"Mmm," Halanna said, taking a sip. "People are going to talk, you know." She shot him a mischievous grin.

Ril'jun laughed. "I'm just a Zandalari. I don't think I'm the one who needs to worry about gossip."

"You're right. I should be concerned. A warrior's virtue is prized among the Skullsplitters," she joked.

He blushed a little. Virtue? He'd never heard that term used in that context before.

Together, they watched the sky grow brighter as the sun rose behind them. The truth was, even if they had truly spent the night together – and they hadn't – then very few would know, and absolutely nobody would care. He was an outsider, and she was just a warrior from a tribe known for its warriors. He could take a thousand wives for all any Gurubashi cared, and as long as Halanna refrained from procreating so much as to lose her fighting fitness, she could do anything she liked.

Of course, "anything she liked" would not include him. The age difference was far too great.

"You come from Bal'lal village, don't you?" he asked, determined to break his own line of thought.

"Yes, I do." Her tone was cheerful, but strained.

"How did you come to pass on the king's message? You're not the usual messenger." The question had been in the back of his mind all night last night, though obviously overshadowed by the matter of the Stone.

Halanna's smile fell. She shrugged awkwardly, opened her mouth, and then closed it. Ril'jun regretted that he had said anything at all. He had merely wished to know, not to put her on the spot – and honestly, he already recognised that she was up to something. Not much of her story made sense. He was more than happy to accept what he was told until he learned more, however; when it came down to it, he liked her company.

"Your friend, the priest," she said, gracelessly changing the topic. "What sort of troll is he?"

Ril'jun nodded, giving her a small smile to show no hard feelings. He swirled his tea contemplatively. It was a difficult question. For all he liked about Min'loth, he could see why others might not like him. He was hardly gregarious, sometimes downright unapproachable, and he had a blinding streak of arrogance to him. If anyone back in Zandalar knew him, they might have been surprised to know Ril'jun considered him such a close friend. But there were good reasons for it.

"He's very, very smart," he said finally. "As confident and honest as anyone I've met, and more loyal. He would never betray the Empire, though you'd have to ask him why that is."

Halanna looked at him, surprised. "Is the Empire not worthy of loyalty?"

"It was a joke."

"Oh."

He grinned. "I'm not Gurubashi, though. I can't say. My loyalty is to Zandalar, and of course, _that_ deserves loyalty."

She looked at him with vague amusement. He felt a little embarrassed. He couldn't help the pride he felt when he spoke of his homeland. All trolls everywhere owed their very existence to his people. Zandalar was the true spiritual home of all troll kind, and, nominally at least, all trolls' loyalties lay there first and foremost.

"I come from the greatest land in existence," he said simply. "We're the greatest priests and shadow hunters. We know the ocean and her dangers better than anyone. I wish you could see it. Zuldazar alone makes this Empire look like a fishing village."

The amusement never left Halanna's eyes. "Maybe I will, one day."

Ril'jun sipped from his tea. The tangy-sweet flavour settled comfortably in his stomach.

"And he will be a good Tidebearer, in your opinion?"

He was jarred by her sudden return to the original question. "Uh, yeah. I mean, of course. He's a talented priest."

"He will need to be a leader and a general."

He turned and studied Halanna closely. Her expression was all innocence, but he wondered about her line of questioning. She thought an awful lot for a warrior. Of course, he liked that in her, but still, it was disconcerting. "The ocean only gives the Stone to the greatest of her children. He will be as great as any other."

Even as he said it, he wondered. For all of Min'loth's talent and character, he never seemed to be true leadership material. Just like Ril'jun, he'd always been a solitary creature. It was one of the things they liked best about each other.

But of course, the ocean knew that. It knew all its children as intimately as lovers. Clearly, there was more to Min'loth than even Ril'jun knew.

Beside him, Halanna sipped her tea and frowned.

* * *

Throughout the day, Ril'jun attended to his duties as was expected of him.

He treated Halanna's message about the Aqir as though it was just as important as the coming of the Stone – which, from an objective standpoint, it was. He composed and delivered a sealed message to the northern border. It was written in the highest form of Zandali, addressed to the emissary stationed in the Amani lands, and it bore the seal of Zandalar, but even so, Ril'jun felt apprehensive when passing it on to the bored young messenger. There was no guarantee that the green-skinned northerners would not kill him before seeing the letter, or even afterward.

Such were the times they lived in. No Amani messenger could expect to fare better. Even Ril'jun, with his ambiguous brown-blue skin and red hair, could easily be mistaken for either.

The letter was succinct. It spoke of the sighted Aqir and proposed – with as much diplomatic pride as possible – a ceasefire. The carefully-worded phrases with which it was written would be unnecessary if the letter made it to the emissary without first being opened, but Ril'jun knew how unlikely that was.

The afternoon saw him approaching the temple of I'lalai.

Climbing the stairs seemed easier to him, now. It was difficult to be held back by anything, even age, while the mystery of the Stone of the Tides beckoned.

He found Min'loth within, as he had hoped. He was bent down before the snake-head altar. The Stone rested between its jaws. Ril'jun was struck by just how small it seemed.

He approached his friend, walking heavily on his staff, making loud clacks against the stone so as not to startle him. Min'loth finished his prayer quickly, then stood and nodded a greeting as he took the Stone from the altar.

Ril'jun nodded back. "How do you feel?"

"Invigorated," Min'loth replied, and Ril'jun could see that it was true. There was a sparkle in his eyes that he'd never seen before, and a spring in his step that he envied.

"Well, my friend, you'll need it."

"I know, mon." Min'loth didn't grin – he never grinned – but he made a roughly equivalent expression. "I know that this is a burden, or at least, it has always been so. But it doesn't feel like it, mon. It feels as if the tales are lies."

They departed from the sanctum and headed down the stairs. Ril'jun watched his friend closely. He knew the tales to which Min'loth referred – every troll did, even before they earned their names, provided they paid enough attention around the campfire. The mythology spoke of many Tidebearers, but two were known best of all: Abendi, the female Tidebearer from just before the Sundering, who crushed the Gurubashi armies beneath mighty waves until she was destroyed by an assassin; and Toshu, the first Tidebearer, whose story was the best-known tragedy in Zandalar mythology.

In both cases, and indeed in all known histories, the Tidebearer met death. The stories of Abendi and Toshu were the exemplary cases of how those deaths always happened: with dishonourable violence, or by fading away to nothing. That was the Stone's curse.

And now, it was Min'loth's curse as well.

As they turned towards Zul'Gurub, Min'loth quietly turned the stone over in his hands, his frown pensive. Ril'jun felt a sudden surge of pity for his young friend. How could he have ever envied him this burden?

Min'loth noticed the scrutiny and his expression cheered. "I can't believe this, mon. I'm actually the Tidebearer. Why me?"

Though the priest's tone was light, Ril'jun said nothing. That was the hardest question to answer.

* * *

They reached the Zul'Gurub by nightfall, and the evening's cool had barely descended when they arrived at the steps of the Great Temple. They stood there, awaiting an escort, and looked at each other. The energies pulsing from within the immense stone walls affected them both. Ril'jun shivered.

The temple was well-lit relative to the rest of the city. The stairs of the temple were lined on either side by torches on tall wooden poles, and on the very top a giant brazier burned like the sun. The area surrounding was still near-pitch dark, however, and so when their escort arrived, Ril'jun struggled to make out more than the fact that she was female.

"The king awaits you," she said, gesturing for them to follow.

Ril'jun readied himself for the climb of his life. He'd never been to the top of the Great Temple, but it was there that ceremonies usually occurred, and of course, the presentation of the Tidebearer was easily important enough for the trek. He was surprised when she led them away from the monstrous staircase and around the side of the temple.

He'd never known there was a room lower than the lower sanctum in any temple, but she led them through almost absolute darkness to a small doorway cut inconspicuously into the stone. A brief stairwell took them through an ice-cold passage into a small alcove, no larger than the interior of a family hut. In the centre was a bonfire. It was uncomfortably hot, but the room was apparently well-ventilated, and the light was startlingly bright. Ril'jun looked around in shock; while the rest of the Great Temple was a chaotic homage to everything spiritual, this room was remarkable in its stark plainness. Not even a scratched marred the walls.

If not for the heat, he would have shivered again. He had never seen such a spiritless place in any sacred structure, and for it to exist in the Great Temple of Zul'Gurub was unnerving.

Their escort bowed and backed into the wall, but not before the light exposed her face. Ril'jun almost called out to her in confusion – _Halanna?_ – but then he realized he was mistaken. Though the guard was pretty enough, and looked enough like his Skullsplitter guest that they could have been twins, she was a stranger.

The same could not be said for the elderly troll that emerged from behind the bonfire. Var'gazul was a face Ril'jun knew all too well after his years of acting as emissary; as king, the man was the spiritual, political and military leader of the Gurubashi Empire, all rolled into one wiry, grey troll.

And by Hakkar's great hookah, did he ever know it.

Ril'jun didn't mind arrogance. Min'loth was filled with that quality, after all. But an obvious, almost aggressive desire to be treated as something special was something he found both pitiful and infuriating. Var'gazul was a great king, but as a troll, he was far less impressive.

"Ril'jun. Min'loth. I have been expecting you," he intoned.

Barely keeping himself from rolling his eyes, Ril'jun bowed low, sketching a formal greeting in the air with his staff. Beside him, Min'loth did the same with one hand.

"The gods have spoken to me," the king continued. "The snake is particularly insistent. You bring me something terrible."

The two younger trolls glanced at each other. Ril'jun nodded assuringly. He was far from surprised that this information had been taken from the gods before Min'loth had arrived. One did not become king by being weak with the spirits.

Var'gazul reached out one hand, palm upward. There, with the flames at his back, standing as steady and tall as any younger troll might, Ril'jun had to admit that the king managed to look imposing enough to match his big talk.

"Show me what you have brought."

Min'loth bowed again, stepping forward. He reached inside his sleeve and drew from it the Stone. It looked black in the firelight.

He stepped forward again, offering the Stone to the king's outstretched hand, but before he released it, Var'gazul gasped and drew his hand back.

"The Stone of the Tides!"

Min'loth pulled his own hand back, eyeing his elder with suspicion. Ril'jun didn't blame him; the king's face showed just a moment of pure anger, before softening back to something even more unlikeable.

"Amazing! We hear about the return of the Aqir not two days ago, and already I have a weapon with which to face them!" He gazed fixedly at the Stone. "To be the one to wipe them from existence…"

"We will do it together, my king," Min'loth said, somehow injecting deference into his firm statement. Ril'jun silently congratulated him.

Var'gazul looked sharply at Min'loth, then nodded. "Of course. You are now the Tidebearer. You will be second only to me, as is tradition." He glanced at Ril'jun. "Emissary, I am afraid this no longer concerns you. It is a matter for the Gurubashi alone. Akkane, escort him out."

Ril'jun was taken aback. Though he and the king had never been friends, and perhaps had even shared a common dislike, they had always treated each other with the utmost professional respect. This abrupt dismissal was quite unlike any treatment he had received in all his years as emissary – and insulting to Zandalar.

_All_ matters concerned Zandalar.

Nonetheless, only the High King had the right or power to rebuke Var'gazul. He nodded to Min'loth, bowed quickly to the king, and allowed himself to be firmly led from the alcove by the guard.

The night air felt positively cold on his skin compared to the heat of that cramped space. The guardswoman – Akkane, the king had called her – led him back to the front of the temple, where the torches from the staircase glowed faintly.

He put himself between the torches and his escort, determined to study her face while he could. And when she turned to face him, he was again struck by the similarities between this troll and Halanna; they shared the same sky-blue skin, high cheekbones and delicate tusks. The only obvious difference, if any, was that this Akkane seemed to be a little older.

She frowned under his gaze. "I'll get you an escort back to Yojamba, mon. Just wait here."

Before she could leave, he stepped forward, grabbing her arm. She tensed and whirled to face him, clearly having struggled to contain her instinct to lash out.

Ril'jun hastily let go. "I'm sorry. I just – do you know someone named Halanna?"

She clenched her jaw. He hazarded a guess that this was her equivalent to falling back in shock. "Why?" she asked tersely.

"I recently met a woman by that name, and you look just like her."

Akkane visibly relaxed, though she looked wary. "No," she said stiffly. "I have never met a Halanna."

"Right." Ril'jun studied her a moment, trying to see some reason why she would be lying so poorly, but to no avail. He gave up. "All right. Go fetch an escort, then. And have a good night."

As he watched the guardswoman almost flee him, he frowned. He would have to ask Halanna about this.


End file.
